You're Not Daddy's Little Girl Anymore
by Volitional
Summary: This was originally a scenario requested/submitted to me; however I wrote and it became a sort of mini-fic of sorts. What's happening is Arthur's spirit visits Integra in some form to tell her how proud he is (I chose through a dream though more realistically in a sense of her waking in the middle and after) of her. A minor headcanon (one of few) for a tidbit on her mother is there


A half empty teacup sat upon its saucer, untouched for quite some time as the once scalding hot beverage was now cool. Various documents and invoices were scattered about the polished surface of the office desk along with platinum blonde hair that pooled out in tendrils. A head was laid not so carefully upon folded arms over the wooden surface, glasses askew and a pleasant expression was present upon the female's features. It had been another long day that had gone well into the evening; not unlike others before it. Perhaps it was the sudden crash with the insomnia that kept the knight up hours on end, or perhaps it was the rush of nostalgia before falling asleep when she had gone to some of her father's belongings in the manor that still remained. While her slumber was peaceful, it did not go untouched by something otherworldly; something spiritual and familiar. It started with her name, the gruff murmur of it until the sound grew in volume just enough to be made into one used in pleasant conversation. "Integra," it called. No, he called. Her eyelids fluttered before opening slowly, movements almost mechanical with the power of exhaustion and uncertainty. A hand cupped her face, and azure orbs widened. She recognized the man she now stared up at, and his voice was all too familiar. Yes, she remembered now as he spoke to her again. "My dearest Integra, you've grown." He looked just as she remembered, in his age; but less sickly. No, he looked fairly healthy – lively even and a little sad; but pleased. The young woman choked on her words, lips unmoving as she couldn't bring it upon herself to speak.

"You've fallen asleep again. You used to be on such a healthy routine, you're working yourself like a dog." He didn't sound pleased, but wasn't chastising her either. His hand trailed away, briefly catching and gently weaving through her hair before it fell once again and he withdrew. Arthur stared at his daughter whom he had not entirely encountered since his departure; since his death. It had been such an unfortunate thing, and the duties of Hellsing had been so spontaneously thrust upon the twelve year old. Integra had to repeat the mantra of 'don't cry' and mentally scolded herself. She felt weak, fragile, and open. All her walls had dropped upon seeing, recognizing and hearing this particular man. His hands worked to straighten the papers, push her elbows off the desk, and set the teacup carefully off to one side. Upon having her arms shooed from their position, the knight straightened herself in the chair and watched. "You've done so well," he began. "Don't." Integra didn't want to hear it. She didn't want praise, not from him. No, she didn't want it at all. There were so many things she could do better, so many things she could have done better. "You are an excellent leader –", he continued before being cut off again, "Stop it!" A hand was brought up, and the blonde fell silent. "Let me finish, Integra. I don't have much time, you know." Her lower lip quivered, and she felt like a child again. "Hellsing is lucky to have such an excellent heir. You run it well; far better than I ever could and more, if I might say. You still have much to learn, and in very short time. While there are things you've done that are questionable, you have made careful decisions and serve Her Majesty well. Integra, you are a true knight. I am proud of you." A warm smile was cast her way, and in his eyes she could see the amount of pride he took in his work – and just how much truth was in his words. Something inside of her warmed, lit up like a candle in the darkest of rooms.

"You're just like her," he said more quietly. The woman let her head turn to one side, observing him carefully as she adjusted her spectacles. "Like whom?" she asked in return. "Your mother…" Silence. It filled the room, thick and rough like sandpaper against bare flesh. It was hard to disperse, like fog that only grew denser; or foliage in a tropical forest when all you had to cut it away was a small plastic knife. "You're everything I couldn't be; and everything she was." He chuckled sadly, darkly and averted his gaze. His fingers brushed against various things about the desk and room itself as he paced it – remembering it as well as the past. It was a painful thing; yet blissfully so. "She too, would be proud of you." Integra had opened her mouth to speak, to inquire of her mother; but just as she had, he was gone. The only trace of his being present was a lingering, fading voice. _"I love you, and stay strong, my dearest Integra."_

Waking with a start, Integra sent a pen flying and looked about the room in alarm. A cold sweat had broken across her forehead in small beads. Her chest rose and fell, rapid to the frantic drumming of her heart. It was a dream; and yet, it had felt and seemed so real. "Father…" the woman murmured the word sadly under her breath, similar to the way she had uttered other words when drawn against the wall beside Alucard's corpse on that fateful night.


End file.
